


Smooth Like Your Face

by Cobrilee



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Derek, Boyd is the smartass sidekick who says what we're all thinking, Cheesy pick-up lines, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:53:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobrilee/pseuds/Cobrilee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is so used to Stiles hitting on him with horribly cheesy pick-up lines, he doesn't realize that maybe Stiles means them. Luckily, Boyd does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smooth Like Your Face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eeyore9990](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/gifts).



> Inspired by [this post](http://cobrilee.tumblr.com/post/148902404899/hit-on-my-muse). Written for the lovely eeyore9990 as a belated birthday present.

Derek doesn’t even have to look up to know it’s Stiles who’s leaning against his counter, one hip pressed into the formica while he lifts one of the packages of chocolate-covered coffee beans, ostensibly to study it, but really just to focus his attention on something else while he announces, “Your hand looks heavy. You should let me hold it.”

“Venti iced caramel macchiato, quad,” he calls over his shoulder to Boyd, whose smirk he can practically  _ feel _ . “That’ll be $7.31,” he tells Stiles blandly, finally looking up.

Stiles is pouting as he digs out his wallet. “I didn’t even order,” he complains, and Derek rolls his eyes long-sufferingly as he accepts the worn-out debit card.

“Stiles, you’ve been coming here five days a week for the last month. Your order never changes.”

Derek is  _ not _ charmed by the face Stiles makes at him. Really. He isn’t.

“You never know, maybe today I felt like a mocha,” he retorts, continuing to sulk.

“If you ever feel like a mocha, I will give it to you for free,” Derek replies dryly. 

Stiles breaks out in a dazzling grin. “I knew it! You’re totally into me.”

“Next, please!” he calls, scowling at Stiles until he holds his hands up in the classic “don’t shoot” pose, moving along to the end of the counter and accepting the plastic cup from Boyd.

“See you tomorrow, oh light of my life!” Stiles calls out, grinning as he waves backward over his shoulder, sauntering out the front door.

Derek likes to pretend he doesn’t watch his ass as he goes, but he totally does.

lllll

“Are you a cat? Because you’re purrfect.”

Derek sighs, lifting his lips and letting his fangs drop. “Great job, insulting a werewolf by calling him a cat.”

“You’re being species-ist,” Stiles chides, clucking his tongue in disappointment. “I expected better of you, owning a hipster coffee bar and all. Cats and werewolves have a lot in common.”

“Boyd,” he calls out, and a cup is pressed into his hand. He shoves it at Stiles with a flat stare. “Bye, Stiles.”

“You know you love me,” Stiles sings out as he hands over a ten, winking. “Keep the change, sourwolf.”

He walks backward toward the front door, mugging kissy-faces at Derek, and there’s a tense moment when someone obliviously opens the door right into his back and he nearly fumbles the cup. Stiles manages to keep his fingertips wrapped around it and Derek exhales in relief as he gives a cheeky salute. “Aww, how cute! You’re happy I didn’t lose my drink.”

“I’m happy I didn’t have to clean up another mess from you being an idiot,” Derek grumbles.

Stiles’s mouth drops open in mock outrage. “That was  _ three times _ ! It’s not like it’s an everyday occurrence.”

“Go away, Stiles.”

He does, pouting. Boyd steps up beside him and they both watch through the glass door as Stiles trips over the curb. The cup still survives.

“He’s right, you know,” Boyd observes nonchalantly.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know you love him.”

“Shut up and go clean the bakery case,” Derek snaps, and Boyd ambles off with a knowing grin.

lllll

He’s in the storage room when Stiles comes in the next time. Boyd tracks him down and hooks a thumb in the direction of the front counter. “You’re needed out front, boss.”

Derek walks out only to find Stiles leaning backward against the counter, dropped down onto his elbows with his hips thrust out. Which, incidentally, should be illegal.

“You must be a hell of a thief, because you stole my heart from across the room,” Stiles drawls, and Derek levels an accusing glare at Boyd.

“You’re in on this now, too?” 

Boyd just shrugs, but as he passes by Stiles he holds his hand out behind him, down low, and Stiles’ palm slaps audibly against it. Derek growls and stomps back to the storage room.

lllll

“Hey, can you help me? I’m lost.”

Derek groans, but he can’t ignore the plaintive voice. “What?”

Stiles winks, stretching out a finger and running it over the three buttons on Derek’s polo shirt. “I’m looking for the road that leads to your heart.”

Boyd starts singing “Highway to Hell” under his breath, and Stiles bursts out laughing so hard that Derek can’t even yell at him or tell him to go away. He just heaves an irritated sigh and starts gathering the ingredients for a macchiato. When Boyd hands him the squeeze bottle of caramel, he has the most cherubic expression of innocence on his face.

“I hate you, you know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Boyd leans in, studying the concoction. “Stiles likes more caramel than that.”

“You’re fired.”

“Nah. You have no game, you need me.”

“You’re demoted, then.”

Boyd grins and waves at Stiles as he heads into the kitchen, and Stiles snorts. “He’s right, you know.”

“You sound like him now,” Derek whines, shoving the coffee at him. “What is he right about?”

“You have no game,” Stiles responds, eyes twinkling as he sips at his drink.

“You’re going to be really sorry when I ban you.”

Stiles grins in amusement as he thumbs open his phone, turns, and heads for the door. “See you tomorrow, sourwolf.”

Derek might be looking forward to it.

lllll

Derek is just coming out of the kitchen with a tray full of scones when Stiles runs smack into the glass door. Ducking his head, he smothers his grin while concentrating on placing the freshly-baked cherry vanilla scones into the display case. When he straightens, Stiles is standing at the counter and frowning.

Derek does  _ not _ like the way his stomach flips at the unusual expression. “You okay?”

“I was so enchanted by your rugged sexiness that I ran into your door. I’m going to need your number for insurance purposes,” Stiles replies solemnly, and Derek smirks. Grabbing a piece of paper, he scrawls something out and hands it over to Stiles, whose eyes have gone wide, stunned that his lame line might have actually worked.

When he glances down at it, he scowls. Derek  _ may  _ have written down his insurance company’s name and number. “I have to tell you, they don’t like it when you file frivolous claims,” Derek mentions off-handedly, grabbing the 1% milk and espresso to make Stiles’ macchiato. “So you may want to rethink involving insurance.”

Boyd snorts from the other end of the counter, and Derek glares at him. “No game,” he mutters, and Stiles laughs. 

“How about adding one of those?” Stiles suggests, pointing at the pale pink scone, and Boyd snags one while Derek finishes making the coffee. 

“That’ll be $7.31,” Derek deadpans, and Stiles raises an eyebrow. 

“I wanted the scone, too,” he reminds Derek.

He shrugs, turning almost as pink as the pastry. “It’s on the house.”

“Smooth,” Boyd approves from behind him, and Stiles beams.

“I  _ knew _ you’d break down sooner or later!” he exclaims in triumph. Derek thinks he can’t be held responsible for his actions when Stiles breaks off a chunk of scone, shoves it in his mouth, moans, and licks his fingers clean before pulling them back out. “This is incredible!”

Derek hands him another bag with a second scone. “Take this and get out of here.” Because he can’t afford to get caught pleasuring himself in the staff bathroom.

Stiles gleefully scoops up his bounty and practically runs for the door. Boyd appraises him. “You might have game after all.”

“Shut up.”

lllll

Derek is stripped down to his tank top, sprawled out on the floor under the sink and trying to fix the leak that is ruining his water bill, when the door opens. “Hello?” a voice calls, and of course it’s Stiles.

“Boyd!” he calls, gritting his teeth as water sprays him in the face when he turns the wrench the wrong way. “We have a customer!”

"I’m elbow-deep in batter!” Boyd calls back, and no, Derek is sure that he is not. Or if he is, it’s because he plunged his arms into it the second he heard Stiles’ voice.

Muttering about the inconvenience of writing up a posting for a job opening, Derek hauls himself out from under the counter and smacks the wrench down on the counter. He’s wet, dirty, and his hair is plastered to his head. Stiles’ jaw drops.

“Holy sh-! I mean,” he corrects himself, “damn. You’re so hot I could bake cookies on you.”

Derek rolls his eyes, in no mood to deal with Stiles’ cheesy lines. “Just the drink today, or did you want something else?”

Stiles’ eyes brighten, and Derek curses that he left himself wide open for that one. The glower on Derek’s face has Stiles thinking twice, clearly, and he closes his mouth, shaking his head. “Just the drink,” he confirms, and Derek washes his hands before starting in on it.

When he hands over the drink, Stiles gives him a wan smile and eight dollars in cash, and leaves without another word.

Derek stares after him in what feels suspiciously like disappointment, and Boyd exits the kitchen to stand beside him. His arms are clean, damn it. “Did you chase him away again?”

“Please,” Derek scoffs, lowering himself back down to the floor gingerly. “Stiles lives to drop in and harass me and then leave.”

“He wouldn’t leave if you didn’t make him,” Boyd comments, handing him the wrench.

“Why would he want to stay?” Derek counters, flinching away in anticipation of getting another faceful of water.

“Boss.” The deep disappointment in Boyd’s voice has Derek shifting until he can see out from underneath the pipes. Boyd’s expression is full of both disbelief and pity. “You know he’s crazy about you, right?”

“Stiles? You’re joking.”

“He hits on you every. damn. day.”

Derek dismisses the observation. “That’s just who Stiles is. He’s a flirt. I’m the target he’s chosen to annoy.”   


Boyd glares at him disapprovingly. “You’re a werewolf. Are you telling me you can’t smell his interest?”   
  
“It’s just sexual,” Derek protests, voice weak as he considers his right-hand man’s staunch insistence. 

“You’re an idiot,” Boyd sniffs. “That boy thinks you hung the damn moon.” 

This time when the water hits him, Derek is so lost in thought he hardly even notices it.

lllll

It’s another three days before Derek sees Stiles again, and he’s worried-just a little-that maybe he really did drive the younger man away. He honestly thought Stiles was only attracted to him sexually, he’s never considered there was genuine interest there. Derek hopes he hasn’t lost the chance to find out.

He’s getting ready to leave, because he promised to escort Cora to a dinner of some kind, when Stiles finally wanders in. His amber eyes track every inch of Derek, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Derek knows he looks good; he’s already changed into his black slacks and the emerald-colored dress shirt Cora picked out for him.

Belatedly, Stiles bleats, “Can I borrow your phone?”

Derek frowns, automatically reaching for his pocket. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to call animal control, because I just saw a fox!” 

Boyd snorts behind the counter, and Derek rolls his eyes. “You realize you’re about as smooth as my face, right?” he teases, stroking his well-groomed, but thick, stubble. It’s prickly, which just proves his point.

“Please,” Stiles scoffs. “I’m smooth like Boyd’s gleaming dome over there.” Boyd chuckles; Derek ignores him.

Derek’s heart is fluttering; he’s not entirely sure how to handle this now that he thinks there’s a chance that Stiles might actually be interested in. He doesn’t have a chance to say anything though before Stiles is circling him, whistling lowly. “Did you sit in a pile of sugar? ‘Cause you have a pretty sweet ass.”

A burst of inspiration hits him, and before he can lose his courage, he glances over his shoulder and winks. “Is that how you got yours?”

The dumbfounded expression on Stiles’ face, accompanied by the sound of Boyd’s startled laughter, keeps a pleased grin on his face as he heads out to his car.

lllll

Derek wipes his hands on his slacks nervously when he sees Stiles’ Jeep pull into the parking lot. Last night was mildly successful, but today is going to be the true test. Today he’s going to be brave.

Stiles winks lasciviously when he strolls into the shop, cocky and fearless. “Did you know your body is sixty-five percent water?” he asks, tone casual, and Derek is immediately suspicious.

“Why would I care?” he counters, eyes narrowing, and Stiles smiles slyly, cat-like.

“Because I’m thirsty as fuck,” he purrs, and oh dear lord. Derek should not have worn his tightest jeans today.

To take his mind off the fact that they’re getting tighter, he starts preparing Stiles’ usual drink.  “You’re slipping,” he remarks after a moment, when he’s sure he’ll have control of his voice. “Normally your cheesy come-ons are cute and silly, not dirty.”

“You want cute?” Stiles chuckles. He gives Derek a winsome grin. “Can I follow you home? My parents always told me to follow my dreams.”

“Do you have a Band-Aid? Because I just scraped my knee falling for you,” Derek shoots back, and Stiles’ eyes widen in delight.

“I’m not an organ donor, but I’d be happy to give you my heart.”

“There’s only one thing I’d like to change about you, and that’s your last name.”

Stiles’ eyes narrow and Derek can see him digging deep. “I’d like to invite you to my house, but you’re so hot I’m afraid you’ll send my air-conditioning bill through the roof.”

Derek grins, enjoying himself thoroughly. “Do I know you? Because you look just like my next boyfriend,” he replies smugly.

He’s not prepared for it when Stiles leans over the counter, his lips inches from Derek’s. “Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I’ll give it back.”

Without thinking twice, Derek grabs Stiles by the back of the head and pulls him in, their mouths crashing together and Stiles scrambling to find purchase on the countertop so he doesn’t fall over. His lips are soft against Derek’s, insistent, and his tongue swipes out to taste the skin of Derek’s lips, and Derek makes an embarrassingly strangled noise in the back of his throat.

When Stiles pulls back he’s a little dazed, but so is Derek. “So does this mean my come-ons worked?” he muses, rubbing at his mouth, and Derek groans. 

“If I say yes, will you never bring it up again?”

Stiles grins coyly. “Only if you let me give you your kiss back.” Derek pulls him in again, this time slotting their mouths together, when he hears a grumble behind him.

“It’s about damn time,” Boyd remarks wryly. When Derek and Stiles break apart guiltily, Boyd snorts. “Y’all ain’t fooling anyone. Get out of here, boss. I’m giving you the night off.”

Stiles laughs suddenly, and Derek’s attention is drawn back to him. “Is your car battery dead? Because I’d like to jump you.”

Derek can’t remember being this happy. “That can be arranged.”


End file.
